A Haunted Hotel
by PenrithPenPal
Summary: Bruce Wayne goes in search of a legend.


Bruce Wayne tossed and turned in his large bed. The room was too hot. He groaned and threw the covers off. Crossing over to the large windows, he pushed them open, and they swung out to let even more warm air into the room. The faint sound of distant waves met his ears.

You'd think the coastal breezes would make a difference, he thought with a frown.

"Master Bruce?" Came the inevitable question from the adjoining room. "Is anything the matter?"

He almost groaned with frustration. The trip out had exhausted him, he had no doubt Alfred was jet lagged as much as he was. Alfred was getting too old to take care of him so closely.

He shook his head. "No, Alfred. Go back to sleep."

He wished he hadn't left Gotham. What was he thinking? All his hard work would start backsliding on him, and he'd only have to work that much harder to maintain order once he returned. Curiosity was one thing, relocating for several weeks was quite another matter altogether. A man's reputation only covered him for so long.

"Are you sure, Master Bruce? You sound crotchety…if I may be so bold…"

"Heat makes it impossible to sleep." Bruce said with a half-smile. Crotchety indeed.

Alfred was opening his door before he realised. The older man bustled in, holding a desk fan that was obviously a little heavy for his trembling arms. Bruce raced to take it from him.

"I thought that might be an issue. Here is a fan. It may be of use."

"Why didn't we just go to the Hilton?"

"It was your idea to come here, Master Bruce. No use complaining now."

Bruce made a huffing sound, and nodded. "Thanks, Alfred."

The older man left the room as quietly as he had entered, and Bruce sat back on the edge of the bed. The fan whirred ineffectively, as it oscillated with the occasional clunk of aging machinery. Alfred had been known to cart many useful items from home from time to time, however the fan was obviously not that useful. It must belong to the hotel.

There was a hush to the room. As if someone had turned down the volume of the waves and the noise of the fan. The temperature dropped as if someone had slipped an ice cube down the back of his shirt. His shoulders shuddered, and he stood up.

"Hello?" Bruce said. He had no idea how to speak to a ghost. Wasn't that what he was there for? To see if the stories were true? That the hotel was haunted, that the ghost was a masked man? It was enough to spark anyone's curiosity, especially if one was a masked man half the time as well.

The windows swung shut with the clatter so fierce Bruce expected the glass to break. He'd half expected noise, so he didn't flinch.

"Dr Henry Wayne?" A voice said softly in the dark. A voice that held power like a steel fist in a velvet glove.

"No…close. He was my great grandfather," he murmured, glancing around. He'd already checked the room for tricks and wires and bugs. He'd found none. "I've been told I look like him. My name is Bruce Wayne." He wondered if he should shake hands, but there was no hand to shake.

The curtains billowed as if a gust had caught them but the room was airless. The bedside lamps shorted out, and yells about a power cut could be heard.

"Did you do that?" Bruce asked. Was the ghost angry? Had his ancestor been the man's enemy? Was he safe? Did he even believe in ghosts anyway?

There was a hush, as if someone was considering what to say.

"I came here because I heard that a masked man was haunting this hotel. I was curious," Bruce said, to cover the silence. "I wanted to find out why…Why you were masked? Why are you haunting this place?"

"Dr Henry Wayne was an inventor…somewhat of a charlatan, somewhat of a genius. What are you?"

"I am a man who wants justice to prevail, criminals to meet their worst nightmare. A man who will see justice done. I wear a mask as well," he murmured.

The room went utterly dark. Something blotted out the light from the street, the light from the stars. Bruce waited. No fear went through him, he waited patiently.

"A mask? Then stop!" the voice shouted, seemingly as loud as a clap of thunder. Bruce resisted the urge to cover his ears. He'd take what he was given. It was only noise after all. "The mask destroys! It blocks…throw it away. It is a curse!"

"Then why did you wear one?"

"I thought to make a difference. To protect the pueblo. To protect the ones I loved. Once you swear to yourself to never stop until there is peace…" There was the sound of a sigh. "There will never be peace. There will never be justice done. Always something more to do…"

"Can I see you?"

There was a strange shifting of light and shadow, and the effects merged into an image. A tall man wearing a cape, a hat, a mask. A sword glinted. His eyes met Bruce's and it was if they burned through him.

With a strange sigh, the image was gone. Bruce was left rubbing his eyes.

"I won't stop."

"Then one day, you might be haunting a…what did you say? A hotel?" The ghost said softly.

"You know my name," Bruce said, wanting to continue talking, fearing the ghost was tiring of the conversation. "Can you tell me yours?"

"My name?"

"The man in the mask. My name is Batman, when I wear the mask," Bruce said, feeling stupid. If anyone could hear him, it would be disastrous. Maybe he was seeing things, maybe he was dreaming….

"Batman?" There was a chuckle, low and deep. "Bat…man?"

Bruce stiffened and frowned, as he waited for the ghost to continue.

"El Zorro. It means the fox," Zorro said.

"The Fox?" Bruce smiled. "No worse, no better than Batman."

"Diego de la Vega," Zorro said, as if after a moment of thought.

If the ghost expected a reaction he didn't get one. Bruce had never heard of the name. Obviously something he'd rectify as soon as possible. What sort of man had he been? An irresponsible young man like himself? He smiled slightly and shrugged. Maybe in public, but charities benefitted from his generosity. Maybe Diego de la Vega was like that too?

"I suppose I am haunting this place because I wanted to keep an eye on things. I died in the mask, so I suppose that means something. I rescued the woman I loved, and I had…to go back inside…something was wrong….a child…"

"This hotel was built over the site of a hacienda."

"I got everyone out, and there was a child…The flames…the heat…"

The temperature in the room rose dramatically. Blistering heat made Bruce sweat. It was as if the fire was burning once more. He could almost feel the flames seek to engulf him and he could taste the smoke. Bruce forced himself to stay calm. It wasn't real.

"The building burnt down? You died in a fire?"

The room chilled again, as if the ghost's memories died away, and Bruce was thankful.

"My father never knew…._She_ never knew." The voice was mournful, soft and deep.

Bruce was silent.

"Throw away the mask, my friend. It only serves to hurt you. Marry and have children. Be happy. Live life." The voice was a whisper now. The windows swung outwards again, catching the sea breezes. They were cooler now, more refreshing.

"Don't end up haunting a hotel, my friend…"


End file.
